


Wayward Daughters

by charcorvin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcorvin/pseuds/charcorvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire's faced angels. Alex was a vampire. Tina's fourteen.</p><p>High school should be a breeze.</p><p>But when a new family moves to Sioux Falls, the life they've built may be in danger. It's up to Jody's Wayward Daughters to protect each other from vampires, witches and...teenagers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, this project is mostly just to see if I can do it. If you guys have things you'd like to see in a WD spin-off, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll be sure to work 'em in. I'm thinking 13 episodes for "Season one" but could up it.
> 
> Happy reading!

1x01: Pilot

 

It was approaching midnight when headlights cut through the fog. Weeds and dirt went flying as the driver slammed her foot on the accelerator, roar of the engine muffling the shouted command of the passenger. The pickup, a beat up black Silverado that had seen better days years before its keys fell into the hands of one Claire Novak, fishtailed wildly on the gravel before finding purchase and tearing down the dirt road. It wasn’t a moment too soon as the barn behind them exploded in a glorious shower of fire and wood.

Claire let out a victorious laugh.

Only to have it cut short when headlights flashed in the rear view mirror.

“How many?” Tara asked, keeping speed while passing shotgun shells to Claire. Her dark skin was flushed, curls framing her head like a rambunctious halo.

The blonde girl leaned back, “Two, maybe three. Windows blacked out.” Claire braced her foot under the dashboard and leaned out the window, firing the shotgun at the wheels of the pursuing vehicle.

“Hey!” Tara reached across the space between them, locking her fingers around Claire’s belt to keep her steady.

There were three quick pops before the car behind them went into a spin, a dust devil whipping up as it slid to a stop. Tara eased the breaks, wary of Claire hanging out the window. The pickup rolled to a stop and Tara flipped a switch, floodlights flaring, illuminating the dusty road.

Claire climbed out of the window, reloaded shotgun braced on her shoulder, but paused at the tailgate. Tara joined her a moment later.

She had been wrong. There were four vampires.

“That wasn’t very neighborly,” the first one said, grinning to show off his fangs.

The other three hung back but they were within easy range. Claire cocked the gun and the vampire halted.

“You’re outnumbered, ladies,” he said, gesturing for the other three to join him. They did so and then continued forward, eating up distance between them with hurried footsteps. One of them growled, ready to lunge.

Claire fired first, winging the leader before taking out the girl to his right with a head shot. Tara kneecapped the other girl, forcing her to the ground and giving Tara time to line up her own shot. Claire cracked the shot gun and reloaded while Tara took out the third. The male was angry now and Claire’s hands fumbled with the warm rifle.

Maisie popped up from the truck bed, emptying a clip into his chest until Claire finished him off.

There was half a second of absolute silence before Maisie let out a whoop, hopping down to check the bodies. “Good thing we still had that rope, huh? That was _Temple of Doom_ shit.”

“You alright?” Claire asked, dragging the male to the tailgate. Together, her and Tara managed to heft the body into the bed. Maisie cleared the vehicle before returning and helping them with the others. The three girls clambered into the cab.

“Almost lost me on that bump. These roads, I swear. Worked okay though, right?”

“It would work better with a four-door than a bench seat,” Tara pointed out. “If we got some nylon straps back there, might hold well enough.”

Maisie flexed her hands, checking the rope burns across her palms. “Get going too fast and it might do more harm than good. Besides, once we get bullet-proof glass on the back window we can ride three across.”

The barn was still burning merrily when they returned, making quick work of the bodies.

“So?” Tara prompted, glancing between the two girls as she pulled back on to the road, heading toward the abandoned car.

“So what?” Maisie asked.

“How did I do?”

Claire smiled. “Evading vampires via high speed chase isn’t on the driving test.”

“Exactly,” Tara said. “So I should be able to handle rush hour in Sioux Falls, yeah?”

“If there was one, sure,” Maisie replied as Tara pulled to the side of the road. “You just turned fifteen, we have plenty of time to practice.”

“And here!” Claire gestured toward the busted up Cavalier as she snagged the tow ropes from the tool box. “You want this car? Call it a late birthday present.”

“I thought that boot knife was my present?” Tara pried the _extremely_ expired license plates from the car and dug through the glove box, confirming there were no registration papers. “This P.O.S. has bad juju anyway. I don’t want some vamp car. We’ll dump in it the creek. Do our part to keep the banks from eroding.”

It took the girls fifteen minutes to get the Cavalier to the creek and another five to push it in, resulting in a tremendous splash of water and mud. The vehicle floated pathetically for a few moments before submerging.

Claire’s watch beeped. “Not to panic anyone but we have fifteen minutes to get home.”

“Crap,” Maisie sighed and the three girls bolted back to the truck.

Tara retrieved the duffle bag from the tool box and exchanged her jeans and hoodie for the skirt and sweater she’d left the house in. Claire did the same, mud encrusted pants traded for a similar but clean pair and a not-sweaty sweatshirt. Maisie replaced her ensemble with an arguably dirtier one, grease and oil from her job at the garage staining most of it. They passed a can of dry shampoo between them, covering the scent of gasoline and smoke.

“Okay,” Claire said as they packed their dirty clothes back into the duffle and hid their mud-caked boots in the tool box then locked it. She slid behind the steering wheel, pointing them for home. “Where were we?”

“The library,” Tara replied.

“And then?”

“I met up with you after work,” Maisie answered, wrapping her long red hair into a ponytail.

“But-”

“I was hungry so I convinced you to take me to get food.”

“Then?”

“We saw a movie,” the girls chimed together.

Claire pulled into the driveway beside Jody’s cruiser and killed the engine. They checked over each other in the dimness of the overhead light. “Gotta do something about your hands,” Claire said to Maisie.

“Eh, I’ll say something happened at the garage.”

They retrieved their backpacks and marched into the house, sheepish grins on their faces.

“Well,” Jody greeted, looking up from her book. “Only ten minutes late.”

“We don’t set the movie times,” Maisie rolled her eyes.

“Quiet,” Jody hushed. “Lola and Tina are asleep.”

The front door swung open and Alex walked in, dropping her bag on the ground with a _thump._

“Alex is late!” Maisie pointed out, flipping on the TV.

Alex shook her head, dark hair swinging limply around her shoulders. “Alex was at work.”

Claire folded herself into a chair. “How was the mystical Pizza Palace?”

“Greasy,” Alex sighed, collapsing onto the couch next to Jody. “New family moved to town. Into the old Rizack place.”

“Oh yeah?” Jody said. “We took care of the ghouls, someone was bound to move in. Needs work but it’s a solid house.”

“With ghoul brains on the walls,” Maisie said.

“I checked the father’s ID when they cashed out. His name’s Rupert Winslow from Grand Junction. They seemed normal but-”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” Jody understood. “Alright, since all my chickadees are under one roof. I’m going to bed.” She punched the code into the security system and it beeped at her twice, armed. “Homework day tomorrow.”

A chorus of groans responded, more out of reflex than because they were actually bothered.

They stared blankly at the TV for a good twenty minutes before Maisie leapt to her feet. “I am so hungry!”

The group followed her into the kitchen, turning on the radio to help muffle their voices. Sandwiches were made and chips laid out and sodas retrieved from the garage as they crowded around the table.

“So there were firetrucks headed out of town on my way home,” Alex said.

“That’s interesting,” Maisie said around a mouthful of PB&J.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Alex asked.

Claire met her blue gaze across the table. “It was vampires.”

Alex’s mouth opened and closed sharply. She nodded once and took an extended drink of soda.

“Thanks,” she said eventually. Alex didn’t hunt vampires. “Jody suspect?”

“Probably,” Claire replied. “Didn’t say. So, the Winslows.”

“Six of ‘em at dinner. Father, three boys and two girls. Rupert was in his fifties, maybe, no ring on. Kids age range probably twenty to nine. They were extremely polite and good tippers. They’re probably fine but anyone willing to move into that house might be a little off kilter.”

+++

Mornings in the Mills household were categorically hectic. Jody left well before anyone else, heading to the station early so she could be home most nights. Alex and Claire were left to make sure the others were on their feet and fed before dropping ten-year-old Lola at the elementary school and heading to Sioux Falls High themselves.

Tara met Claire at her locker after second period. “Winslows are the talk of the school,” she reported.

“Of course they are,” Claire replied, digging for her trig book. “About time too. Maisie’s been the resident new girl for months.”

“I’ve got one of the girls in homeroom. Josephine. Had to do an introduction, poor thing. Not much to say, moved here from Colorado with her family. She likes music. I didn’t have time to talk to her.”

“You know you have to be careful what you say.”

“What?” Tara’s mouth dropped open and she twisted a finger through her curls like she was confused. “It’s a good thing my ‘My family was slaughtered by a wendigo, ask me how!’ shirt is in the wash.”

“Brat,” Claire hipchecked her.

“You don’t think she’d buy the story that we’re sisters?” Tara asked. “Our resemblance is uncanny.”

“Sure except you look like Zoe freaking Saldana.”

Tara’s snarky comeback was interrupted by Tina bounding up to them. “You look giddy. Why are you giddy?”

Tina rocked on the balls on her feet. “I made the cheerleading team.”

Her news was met with twin groans.

“Hey!” she said around a hair tie, piling her blonde hair up on her head. “I barely went to high school the first time around. And if I can make prom queen, I will win forever.”

“You got big dreams, kid. Chase ‘em.”

Tara coughed under her breath, “Here comes one of the new boys.”

They kept it subtle. Tara continued condemning cheerleading as the downfall of humanity while Tina scowled, the two girls taking turns to look at the boy walking down the hallway. Claire shut her locker, leaning back against it before stealing her own glance.

Her first impression was that he looked terrified. Dark brown eyes studied the hallway briefly before returning, inevitably, to stare at the tips of his dirty Chuck Taylors. He had a death grip on the strap of his backpack and he tugged at the collar of his gray sweater before pushing his glasses back up on his nose. He met her gaze but seemed too surprised to smile.

“Nice kicks,” she offered.

His lips twitched in a shaky grin and the tide of students carried him down the hall.

“Whoa,” Tara smirked. “What. Was. That.”

“What?” Claire shrugged.

“Nice kicks?” Tara repeated. “You just had a meet-cute. Oh man, I hope he doesn’t turn out to a soul-sucking monster.”

“I was being nice!” Claire defended.

“You’re rarely nice,” Tina pointed out.

“I was just, uh,” Claire started, but she was saved by the bell.

+++

Claire was still thinking about new boy’s awkward smile when she went to work that afternoon. She loved her job at the Vault, a comic shop/indie bookstore/coffee house that was popular with the local college kids. She stuck resolutely to the book side, after a disastrous week of training in the café she’d been asked, kindly, not to return. Tommy handed her a coffee when she clocked in, just as he clocked out.

“You didn’t have to,” she said for the thousandth time.

“Did you have a good day at school?” he gave her a noogie.

“Please leave,” she sighed, sliding behind the counter and fixing him with a glare.

He breezed out, letting in a rush of autumn as the door swung closed.

Life was good, all together. Alex was set to graduate this May with Claire matriculating the following year. Though both eighteen, their transcripts had been altered, giving them another year to figure out their lives while earning a, slightly-fabricated, diploma. Between Jody, Alex at the Pizza Palace, the Vault, and Maisie clocking hours at Red’s Auto, they lived well. Though Jody would never complain, the girls felt better when they were able to help out. Tara, Tina and Lola held down chores at the house and kept their grades up.

Jody took them hunting when the situation called for it.

And the girls went on their own even when it didn’t.

Which reminded her, she had a duffle of bloody, smoky clothes in the tool box of her truck and three pairs of muddy boots. Not that Maisie was likely to throw open the tool box while she had the truck at the shop. The amount of weapons concealed within was alarming. She spent an hour straightening up around the shop and managed to complete her homework before browsing the internet for any potential hunts.

All the while, not thinking of a pair of glasses.

Totally not thinking about them.

She didn’t glance up when the bell above the door jingled, figuring the customer would make a beeline for coffee. The footsteps get louder, traveling along the Marvel wall. Claire looked up

 _Glasses._ Of course.

“Hey, need help?” she asked, proud that she’d nearly managed a complete, sensible, sentence.

“H-hi,” Glasses stuttered. “Just looking.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Let me know.”

He mumbled something back, eyes locked on the comics before him and Claire wasted no time in grabbing her phone.

_Me: New boy @ vault_

_Tara: K-I-S-S-I-N-G_

_Me: Why did I think you would help_

_Tara: *shrug*_

To her relief, the bell dinged again, drawing her attention away from the new kid. “Hey,” she greeted.

“Hello.” He was probably her age, maybe a year older, with hair as dark black as the wool coat he was wearing. “I’m looking for my brother. Yay tall. Glasses. Unbearably shy.” Claire pointed down the aisle and the boy yelled over his shoulder, “Amos!”

Feet shuffled toward them before Amos peeked around the shelves. “Damien.”

 _Damien,_ Claire thought. _That didn’t bode well._

“Carry on, just wanted to know where you were,” Damien continued before turning back to Claire. “Bit of an awkward duck. Damien Winslow.”

She shook his hand, relieved when the iron ring on her index finger didn’t send him into a fit. “Claire.”

“Claire,” he repeated. “That’s pretty. We’re new in town.”

“Welcome,” she said. He didn’t strike her as dangerous, not really. He was charming and not afraid to use it. But Claire had met a lot of charming people. He, and Amos for that matter, had walked easily over the Devil’s Trap she’d drawn under the door mat. It hadn’t taken much to convince the owner that decorating with spray painted sigils gave the Vault a dystopian vibe.

“Have you worked here long?” he asked, glancing around the Vault, tapping the head of Bobble Coulson on the counter. He seemed to hesitate at the sigils on the wall behind her but maybe she was being overly suspicious.

“Ever since I moved to town,” she replied evasively and changed the subject. “You like comics?”

“Well enough. Amos is the reader. Whenever we move to a new place he has to scout out the nearest bookshop,” he said it with clear brotherly affection.

“There’s an actual bookstore across town,” Claire offered. “We’re a bit eclectic.”

“I know, I checked there first,” Damien grinned.

“S-sorry,” Amos sidled up behind his brother. “I’m looking for _S-Sandman_. I couldn’t find it.”

He kept his gaze locked on the counter, toying idly with the strap of his backpack to fight through his stutter. Claire waited patiently for him to finish while Damien didn’t seem to notice at all.

“That’s one of my favorites,” Claire rounded the counter, steering them toward the back shelves. “You’re looking for _Overture_ , I’m guessing. All the comics are here—sorry they’re in plastic, mature content, whatever—but the graphic novel comes out next week if you’re willing to wait. I can make sure we hold a copy for you.”

Amos’s face lit up as Claire spoke but his throat bobbed uselessly when he started to reply. He threw a panicked look at Damien.

“Might as well get ‘em all at once, eh?” Damien said effortlessly, knocking elbows with his brother. Amos nodded, face falling, and Claire led them back to the front of the store. Damien snagged a flier for an upcoming art installation and wrote a number on the back. “Just shoot Amos here a text when it gets in, cool?”

Claire agreed, realizing the stress it may put on Amos to have a conversation on the phone.

Damien ushered Amos toward the door but he turned back at the last moment. “Thank you, Cl-Claire.”

She waved. “Anything for a fellow Chuck Taylor lover.”

Her phone was in her hand the second the door closed.

_Me: I accidentally got his phone number._

_Tara: Lola is going to make an adorable flower girl._

+++

Claire had folded up the flier and tucked it under the keyboard, figuring if she couldn’t see it, she wouldn’t think about it.

It didn’t work.

So Amos Winslow wore glasses. Amos Winslow had a stutter, which was just disarmingly adorable. Amos Winslow had an extremely protective older brother who was either the best actor in the world or the most genuine guy Claire had met in a while.

She twisted the iron ring around her finger in agitation, zoning out, until the barista was snapping in her face. “Earth to Claire? We’re closed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she blinked. “Sorry. I’ll let you out. Gotta count down the till.”

“You sure you don’t want us to wait?” she asked. “It’s no trouble.”

“Nah, Maisie’ll be here in a minute,” Claire held the door for them, watching carefully until they were safe in their cars.

It would figure, then, that as soon as she was on her own, there would be footsteps at the end of the Marvel aisle. Claire moved soundlessly on the balls of her feet, grabbing a baseball bat from behind the counter. She said loudly, “We’re closing up.”

She was not prepared for the monster to let out a laugh.

Claire moved closer, readying the bat. She spun around the corner, surprised to find not a hulking beast but a young woman, probably no older than her. “Sorry,” the woman said. “ _Ladykiller_ just gets me.”

Her brown hair was a shaggy pixie cut, undercut along her left ear. She could have passed for any high school or college student but Claire knew she wasn’t. “We’re closed.”

“I heard you the first time, Claire,” she glanced up. “Whoa, that sounded sinister. I’m sorry. I’m really not here to cause trouble. I was tracking someone and it led me here.”

“Are you a hunter?” she asked carefully.

“Kind of, I guess? I’m not _hunting_ hunting. Checking. Name’s Miriam,” she replaced the comic and moved toward the front door. She flipped the corner of the mat over with her boot, smirking at the Devil’s Trap beneath. She stepped easily over it. Not a demon then. “Smart.”

Miriam made eye contact then, for the very first time, and suddenly, inexplicably, Claire felt calmer. Her hazel eyes were kind, pale stripe down her nose and along her cheekbones spoke of a recent sunburn. “You gonna be in town for a while?” Claire asked.

“I’ll be around,” she stepped out into the chilly darkness. “Long as they are.”

“The Winslows,” Claire said.

Miriam zipped up her leather jacket and pulled her scarf up under her ears. “They’re not all bad,” she said. “But the ones that are make up for the ones that ain’t.”

Headlights cut around the corner, Maisie coming to collect her, but Miriam was gone by the time Claire turned back.

“You okay?” Maisie asked over the roar of the engine. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

+++

“So they’re bad news?” Jody asked at their late, late dinner that night.

Claire wound the spaghetti around her fork. “They are or she is. I’m not ruling anybody out.”

“I had Donna check out the family, so it wouldn’t trace back to me,” Jody alerted them. “Moved around a lot but everything is on the level.”

“All our stuff appears on the level,” Alex noted.

“Another good point,” Jody nodded.

“The older one, Damien, was it? He’s in my chem class,” Alex said.

“So Rupert. Damien, Amos, Josephine. That leaves us another boy and girl to figure out.”

Tara asked, “You sure this Miriam chick wasn’t one of them?”

“Not even remotely,” Claire replied. “But if pressed, I’d say no. Got ages on the others?”

“No,” Jody said. “I’ll have Donna send the stuff over since it looks like we’ll need it.”

“Ugh,” Maisie rubbed her forehead. “This is going to be so much more trouble than those vampires.”

Jody stiffened. “What vampires?”

Lying came easily to Maisie. “Just vampires in general. Pretty straightforward, right? None of this creeping around with some inevitable plan of destruction. Simple. Right to the throat.”

Unfortunately for Maisie, Jody’s bullshit detector was unparalleled. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that torched barn outside of town, would it?”

No one looked at each other.

“You may as well tell me, I already know everything.”

They very much doubted that. But there was no way to be _sure._

It didn’t matter, they couldn’t out-silence Jody.

“Let’s pretend it did,” Maisie finally muttered. “What kind of consequences would we be looking at? Hypothetically.”

“ _Girls_ ,” she sighed, scrubbing her hands down her face. “You have to _tell_ me what you’re doing. I get it, you want to hunt. But you have to do it smart.”

“Everything was under control,” Tara spoke up. “Claire and Maisie were on weapons and I drove.”

“Without a license?” Jody said.

“We burned the barn,” Claire distracted. “Ditched the car in the creek. Burned the bodies. Everything was taken care of.”

“You don’t understand,” Jody said under her breath.

“Every time we try to talk to you about it, you say it’s too dangerous,” Tara said. “And try to talk us out of it.”

“No, no,” Jody took a calming breath. “Maybe it seems like that but it isn’t. You’re going to hunt either way, I know that. All I’m asking is that you tell me what you’re getting into, where you’re going to be, who is going to be with you. Normal parental questions even when my girls aren’t slaughtering monsters. If it seems like I’m talking you out of it, I’m just asking you to look at every part of the plan before you go in. If I argue, it’s because I want you to walk away, not in a body bag. That’s all.”

“So you’re not mad?” Maisie asked after a beat.

“Furious,” Jody answered. “But resigned. As far as these Winslows go, until we know more, just keep an eye out, don’t wander off with any of them even if they offer you candy. Look out for each other.”

“Constant vigilance!” the girls chorused, clinking soda cans.

“I didn’t go hunting,” Lola pointed out and Tina chimed in that she hadn’t either.

“You’re ten,” Tara shot back. “Talk to us when you’re fifteen. Besides, we haven’t even shared the best news of the day, _Sioux Falls High’s newest cheerleader!_ ”

+++

Engines just made sense to Maisie Malone. The hum, the growl, the smell, if something was broken or cracked you just replaced it with a newer, shinier part. Red’s Auto was home to her as much as Jody’s was and she’d been there just as long. It had been an easy choice going with the sheriff, migrating to Sioux Falls, and she’d walked into Red’s that same week and walked out with a job. Red was gruff but he hadn’t hesitated when she’d said she wanted a job, he’d shown her the shop and presented her with a decrepit Buick and told her to make it run. He hired her when she did. She liked that he called her “son” just like he did everyone else at the shop.

Unlike the other girls residing at Jody’s, hunting the supernatural was an unexpected bonus. It had been human monsters keeping close on Maisie’s heels for her most of her life. They were the reason for her fictional name, the reason for the security system in place at Jody’s. Monsters, Maisie could handle, it was humans that made her twitch.

“Malone!” Red called from the desk, pulling Maisie away from the Silverado. They’d managed to pick up a nail the other night so she had to do a quick patch job on the tire. It’d had made it through the school week. She’d have to keep an eye on it but at least they wouldn’t have to replace the tire or tube completely.

“What’s up, boss?” she tugged off her hat, swiping at her sweaty forehead.

He tipped his chin toward a young man who was pulling his Jeep into Bay 2. “Oil change.”

She returned to the shop, securing her cap. Out of habit, she opened the door for him.

“Uh, thanks,” he said awkwardly, nearly glaring at her. He was barely taller than her, with a thick shock of dark hair over arched brows.

“Just the oil change or did you want the tires rotated too?” Maisie asked.

He balked at her. “That’s a deep voice for a girl.”

Maisie returned his arched brow with one of her own. Hers was more refined, practiced, especially for the occasion when anyone mentioned the unnaturally rough timber of her voice. Years of leaning over, crawling under, and breathing around vehicles will do that. “And today on “Things Not To Say To Strangers,” she muttered. “What’ll it be?”

“Tires too,” he agreed.

“You can wait in the office if you-”

“I think I’ll stay here,” he cut her off. “Keep watch.”

Maisie bit her tongue and raised the Jeep on the lift, setting to work on the oil. This wouldn’t mark the first time she’d snapped at a dickbag like this kid. Although anytime they complained to Red they were assured he would “see to it” before doing absolutely nothing. He liked to point out that if a man had a problem with a woman changing his oil, he could damn well learn to do it himself.

Dickbag looked about her age though and while Red could look out for her here, school was a completely different animal.

“Unusual occupation for a female,” Dickbag said. She didn’t like the way he said female.

A thick sludge gooped into the pan. He was well overdue for an oil change, not that she was going to press his buttons. Yet. She went to work on the tires in the meantime. “Not really.”

“No?”

Ugh, he was baiting her. “Mechanics in general get kind of a bum rap,” she kept her voice light, like she was only half-invested in the conversation and not making an argument. “Women in particular tend to assume that they’re being taken advantage of. Luckily, they see women mechanics like me as an ally, trustworthy.”

“And for the menfolk you’re not too bad on the eyes,” he chuckled, eyes lingering on her bright red ponytail.

No, this was not the first time she was going to snap at a jerk. It may be the first time she stabbed someone with a screwdriver though.

It took her a second to remember that that wasn’t true. She’d totally stabbed someone with a screwdriver before.

“It’s the grease-stained overalls,” she said. “They’re very erotic.”

“How long have you worked here?” he asked as she finished off setting the tires, going to work on tightening the lug nuts.

“A while,” she shrugged.

“Been in Sioux Falls long?”

Maisie stiffened. “A while. You one of the new kids?”

“Simon Winslow,” he stuck out his hand.

“I would but grease.” _Also, I don’t want to._

She made quick work of the tires and flushed out the oil before replacing the plug and filling it. “You go ahead and cash out with Red, I’ll pull it around front.”

He slammed the door closed as soon as she lifted the handle and Maisie had the sudden and irresistible urge to root through the backseat. “Or not,” she muttered. “Red’ll check you out.”

Simon didn’t move away from her. His eyes trailed to her nametag. “Maisie, is it?”

“Yep,” she popped the _p_. She decided to step away, let him find her weak and submissive. He’d be in for a hell of a shock eventually.

“Thanks,” he hopped in the Jeep and drove it out front. She made slow work of cleaning her tools while watching him converse with Red.

“Send him to someone else next time,” she requested after Simon left.

“You sure, son?” the old man asked, filing papers on the Jeep. “He left you quite a tip.”

He slid a crisp $100 bill across the counter toward her.

+++

Damien hesitated on the porch.

The mailbox out on the dirt road still said Rizack, in peeling, fading white letters but Rupert Winslow had bought the land, and the few hundred acres around it outright. The realtor hadn’t said much about the history of the house: farm family, aged, retired. But a house like this didn’t just pop up on the market, remain vacant for a decade, only to sell at such a low price. Rupert had been thorough his first night in the house, assuring himself that whatever had been keeping residence scarce was no longer.

Damien considered this the first sign that this town wasn’t for them in the long run. You could shine the floors and paint the walls but the history hung heavy in the air. It was the worst place for Hallie, but Rupert hadn’t been swayed.

He slipped through the front door, nearly making it to the stairs to disappear into his room when Rupert asked him to fetch Amos and meet him in the dining room.

Damien took his time after that. Hanging his jacket in his closet, unpacking his back pack, unloading the pistol he kept on him and hiding it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Rupert shouted something else, calling for Simon, probably. Josephine was firmly entrenched in the after school torture session known as cheerleading. She wasn’t happy about it and she made sure everyone knew.

Finally, he trudged to the attic, giving Amos a courtesy knock before climbing up the ladder. It was not made to be a bedroom, barely insulated with gaps in the floorboards, but the most striking feature of the front of the house was the stained-glass window dominating the upper eve. Damien ran his fingers over the red petals of the glass. “Amos?”

“Yes.”

He was in the back corner, burrowed under blankets, with the bare-bulb he’d plugged into an extension cord, the only light in the room, hanging over his head. He didn’t look up from his book.

“Those again?” Damien asked. “ _Bugs_? Not Edlund’s best.”

“You have to read them in order,” Amos said, voice low.

“And how many times have you read them?”

“Does it matter?” he asked. “Y-you didn’t read them at all.”

Damien rubbed his temples, annoyed. “Dad wants to talk to us. Downstairs. Can she-”

Damien pointed over to their sister, Hallie. She was sitting cross-legged in the opposite corner, forehead pressed to the walls, scribbling furiously on the wood panels.

“No,” Amos said. “Today is not a good day.”

“She was okay at the pizza place.”

Amos grunted. “That’s what set her off. You know if she’s around that many people, getting all those feelings and thoughts thrown at her, it _hurts_ , Damien. It _hurts_ her. She needs to be out in the open, in the fresh air. N-not trapped here. C-caged.”

“We’re trying to fix it. She-”

“She’s not broken!” Amos hissed, drawing Hallie’s attention.

“ _Two little dickie-birds, sitting on a wall_ ,” she sang softly, eyes liquid in the dim light. “ _One named Peter. One named Paul.”_

“She needs quiet,” Amos lowered his voice.

Damien could count the bumps of Hallie’s spine through her shirt, the blanket Amos had wrapped around her shoulders, was pooled on the floor behind her, dirtied and stained from the charcoal covering her hands. It was in her hair, on her face. _In her teeth._

 _“Fly away, Peter. Fly away, Paul,”_ Hallie mumbled, grinning wide.

“You better get your story straight before you come downstairs,” Damien reminded. “Dad knows we’re getting close, he’s bound to ask what we’ve learned about the kids here.”

“I don’t like talking to people, he knows better than to ask me.”

“Don’t,” Damien hissed. “ _Don’t._ You know it’s the girl from the bookstore.”

Amos didn’t look up from _Bugs._

Footsteps echoed heavily on one of the lower landings and Amos and Damien skittered toward the ladder. “Boys,” Rupert called up, breathless.

“Coming!” Damien was first down the stairs.

“Hallie,” Amos said. “Hallie, I’m going downstairs for a little bit, okay? But I-I’ll be right back. Bring you some soup, or Pop-Tarts.”

 _“Come back, Peter,”_ she replied airily. _“Come back, Paul.”_

+++

Rupert Winslow resembled a mortician from a horror movie: slender with delicate skin that showed the rivers and tributaries of his veins. He used it against people, this imagined meekness, it made people treat him differently. Sweetly. Like he wasn’t a threat.

His children had never been fooled. Although Simon balanced on two legs of the dining room chair, feet kicked up on the table, he was ready to spring away at a moment’s notice. The stiffening of his father’s long, spider-like fingers, rarely meant anything good.

Damien fell into the chair across from Simon, nodding a greeting, while Amos slipped into his own seat silently.

“How are you boys fitting into Sioux Falls?” Rupert asked, beetle-black eyes roving over their faces.

“Better than Illinois,” Simon clucked his tongue.

“Are we having any luck?” he pried.

There was only silence. Damien could feel his heartbeat quickening in his chest, watching his father’s hands like dynamite. Amos was a calming presence at his elbow, breathing easy. Which meant Amos remained one of the most talented pretenders or he had shut down, completely removed himself from this situation.

 “Met a cute girl at the auto shop,” Simon supplied, disinterested.

“Does she fit the criteria?” Rupert asked.

“It couldn’t hurt to look a little closer,” Simon shot Damien an exaggerated wink. “Get under the overalls, if you will.”

Abruptly, Simon’s head whipped to the side, though no one had moved. He tumbled from the chair, cracking the back of his head against the wood floor then he blinked up at Rupert, stunned.

“Is this a game to you, boy?” Rupert growled, nails digging into the wood of the table. “We are running out of time. All of you. Is this what you want? Our years are up, we are down to months, weeks maybe. This…this insolence. You laugh and swagger, meanwhile we are _dying.”_

Simon brought a shaking hand to his face, tracing the welts left by incorporeal hands. “N-no, sir. No.”

“And you?” he turned his rage on Damien. “This is the town. Where is she?”

“It’s only been a week,” Damien said, steel in his voice. He wanted to reach out to Simon but knew better. “We’re trying, dad, we are, but it’s not that easy. We can’t just ask around without raising suspicion. There are a lot of girls here and narrowing it down takes time-”

“Time is not something we have in abundance!”

Damien placated with a half-truth, “There are only a handful of them who have arrived within the last few years. We tracked her this far, we can…we can find her.”

“And you?” Rupert looked at Amos. “Do you have anything helpful to contribute?”

“Th-there’s a girl in m-my art c-class,” Amos managed. “M-maybe…”

“Stop yammering,” Rupert growled. “Be useful and go sit with your sister. Anything she says, write it down.”

“Yes, s-sir,” Amos struggled up from his chair and stumbled up the stairs. He quieted his footsteps to feign distance and sat on the first landing, needing to hear the rest of the conversation.

Rupert’s voice was murderously low as he addressed his eldest sons. “Someone in this godforsaken town has been possessed by an angel. Someone in this hellhole has a smidgen of Grace and _we need it._ Find her.”

End of Episode One

+++


	2. You Ain't Alone

1x02: You Ain't Alone

Tina wasn’t in it for the monster hunting.

She’d throw in every once in a while, if the situation really called for it. Figuring that was the least she do for Jody, the woman was a freaking saint. She’d given the sheriff a shaky phone call from one of the many bus stops on her way from Oregon to South Dakota, explaining (between breathless sobs) that she needed somewhere safe to stay, just for a bit, and would it be too much of a hassle for Jody to pick her up at the bus station?

And there Jody had been, just as she’d said, with no pressing questions other than asking if Tina was hungry. She’d taken her to the local diner and explained that there was a bed at the Mills estate if Tina was interested. She mentioned the other girls living there: Alex and Tara and Lola. Tina agreed to check out the house and found she never wanted to leave.

She hadn’t been lying, this chance for a do-over was a blessing. A terrifying one, to be sure, but a blessing all the same. Tina studied the lore, learned the weapons, and was decent in a fight when they needed all hands on deck, but hunting wasn’t her future.

Right now, her present was the Sioux Falls cheerleading squad.

So far they were fitting every stereotype she’d prepared for.

“Love the shoes, Becca,” resident popular girl Astrid McMannon sneered, flicking Becca’s ponytail as she strutted by her in the hallway. “My grandfather has the same pair.”

Becca didn’t bother to reply, there was no point.

“See, Josephine, Becca here is our very own What Not to Wear. Take note and dress the opposite,” Astrid staged whispered to Josephine causing Becca to flush and her toes to curl in her saddle shoes. “I had high hopes, Becca here came from New York a few weeks ago. I was assuming she’d be cool but no such luck. But then we got you.”

Josephine let out an amused chuckle while she studied Becca critically. There was a kind of restrained fury to the nerd’s shoulders, as if she knew she could take care of the problem of Astrid McMannon if she’d only let loose. Very interesting.

“Leave her alone, Astrid,” Tina approached them. Though three of the girls were wearing the cheerleading jackets of Sioux Falls High, they were not friends. Tina’s place on the team was secured this year, but if Astrid made captain her senior year…the cheerleading portion of Tina’s high school career might be laughably short.

“Just in time,” Astrid grinned. “Another ‘avoid at all costs’ right here. It’s nice of you to all herd together, makes you easier to spot. Tina and her weird-ass family all live in the woods,” Astrid updated Josephine as they carried on down the hallway. “ _Lesbians._ ”

“Later, Cordelia!” Tina shouted after her and then turned to Becca. “Lebians, that’s a new one. Last I heard we were all witches sucking the lives out of little children.”

“You’re not?” Becca asked, disappointed.

“We totally are,” Tina said. “Unfortunately, Astrid has the soul of a shriveled old woman and is therefore no use to us. I like your shoes by the way, grandfather-chic is in. I give it two weeks before Astrid has a pair and says she ordered them from Paris.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Becca said, trading out her books. “Talked back to Astrid, I mean. I know I shouldn’t let her get to me but-”

“Becca, c’mon, don’t worry about it. I know it seems awful, but in three years you’ll be out of here. It may feel like Hell now but once you get some distance, you’ll think it’s ridiculous that you ever let someone like Astrid make you feel bad about yourself,” Tina said. “Seriously, all of this will cease to matter. Like at all.”

“You are wise beyond your years, Tina,” Becca smiled, linking arms to walk to science.

“I’ve often thought so.”

+++

It was a bad sign that Jody could hear the thump of the stereo while parked out front in her squad car. The fact that it was just after five in the evening on a weekday made her feel slightly better. And only Claire and Alex’s cars were parked out front. It could be a repeat of the Hibbing fiasco when Alex had hung up mid-firework explosion. Of course, Jody had rushed home after that whole mess, expecting firetrucks, broken windows, Alex in handcuffs. She’d arrived only to find Alex sitting on the couch, watching a movie, house perfectly clean and intact around her.

“I turned up _Animal House_ and found a firework show on YouTube,” Alex had smirked before Jody could pose a question. “I just moved here and have no friends. Who would I invite to a party?”

Now Alex did have friends, and a girlfriend, and all the other girls had friends and were more than capable of throwing a party so she had no choice but to prepare herself for anything when she made her way inside.

“For goodness sake,” she said, turning down the stereo and eyeing the plethora of bags and _stuff_ all over the living room floor. “Did you rob the craft store?”

Maisie greeted her first, hands full of Velcro and fake tarantulas. “Sidney’s Halloween party is Friday.”

Jody’s stricken gaze fell on Lola. Alex and Tara were draping brown fabric over her small frame while Lola tore a garland of fake ivy to shreds. “I have the late shift on Halloween. I’m so sorry, Lola, I know you were looking forward to this but-”

“Jody,” Claire interrupted. “We’ve got it figured. Alex has to help Sid set up so you’ll drop Lola at the Vault after school and we’re gonna take Lola trick-or-treating and to the first couple hours of the party. Then I’ll come stay with her.”

“Claire, you should be able to enjoy your night-”

“Believe me,” she said. “I am more than happy for the excuse to bail early. I have an opening shift the next morning anyway.”

Jody would not cry. She would not. She would not tear up in front of this group of amazing young women. She covered her cough while taking off her jacket and sat down next to Maisie. “And what are we making Miss Lola into?”

“I am Groot,” Lola smiled, scars on her face shining. The collar of her shirt was damp so they hadn’t been there too long, long enough to make a mess at any rate. Lola always scrubbed off the concealer the moment she got home. She twisted the ivy through her blonde locks. “Do you like it? We’re going to put camouflage on my face for trick or treating. They won’t let us wear face paint to school.”

“I like it very much. Let’s see, Maisie. Leather jacket, hat, and tarantulas. Indiana Jones?”

“Duh,” she replied.

“Alex?”

“Sid and I are going as Wednesday and Pugsly,” Alex held up a striped shirt.

“And you three? I’m sure you have something delightfully sinister?”

“We’re hopping on the Marvel bandwagon for Little Miss here,” Tara said, holding up an Iron Man hoodie while Tina hefted her Hammer.

Claire’s watch beeped, interrupting them. She carefully unwrapped Lola, “Grab your bag, Remus. Time to go.”

+++

“We don’t even know that I’m going to change,” Lola complained, ball cap pulled low over her golden locks.

“True,” Claire placated, turning off the highway toward Bobby’s. “You did last month but not the month before, so yes, it would stand to reason that you won’t turn this month but do you really want to risk it?”

Lola sighed. “No.”

“There’s a lot we don’t know. You’re still… _settling_.”

“I’m not a house,” the little girl grimaced, hiding her smile against the passenger window.

Claire risked a glance. Lola’s hair was swept back, revealing the shiny scar stretched across the entirety of her little neck. Her face and arms were littered with the same slender lines. A few years ago, werewolves had started turning families, targeting those with young kids. Kids who could be raised in a pack, turned into the ultimate weapon. Hunters everywhere had armored up to do what they could, unfortunately the result was kids like Lola: orphaned werewolves, unable to control their power. Most of them ended up on the streets, if they made it that far. Lola was one of the lucky ones.

Depending on one’s perspective.

“Lola,” Claire whispered, putting the Chevy in park. “Don’t smile.”

Lola turned further into the window, hiding her face.

“Lola,” she repeated. “Don’t you dare smile.”

The little girl whipped around, shoving at Claire with a grin across her pale face. She snatched her bag from between them and bounded up the stairs into Bobby’s just as the sun sank below the horizon.

From the outside, the house looked battered and abandoned but Jody had spent many of her weekends making the inside habitable, just in case. Lola dropped her bag in the panic room, shaking out the cot and throwing down her sleeping bag before returning upstairs to Claire, assuring her (at Claire’s persistent questioning) that she felt fine. Claire agreed to a movie and they were forty minutes into _Liar, Liar Vampire_ when Lola suddenly stiffened next to her on the couch.

“Lo?”

The little girl’s spine was stiff, shoulders hunched, listening very intently. When she turned to look at Claire, her usually brown eyes had the metallic yellow sheen of an agitated cat. “It’s not me,” she whispered. “It’s something else.”

“Get in the panic room,” Claire commanded quietly, ushering Lola to the stairs before throwing on all the lights. She didn’t turn around until she heard the solid _thud_ and _clink_ of the door closing and the lock sliding into place.

The room was brightly lit now. The alarm system hadn’t made a peep. Yet Claire knew without a doubt that something in the old house was watching her. Something not friendly.

It didn’t take long for the shadow to detach itself from the wall, moving steadily toward her. Claire shook the blade from her sleeve, making quick slicing motions at the phantom. It parted around her weapon and then reformed, no worse for wear, and reached for her. Claire rolled under its outstretched arm, deciding between the front door and bolting for the panic room herself.

She couldn’t leave Lola.

The shadow rushed her, tossing her into the wall. Claire recovered enough to grab the packet of salt from her pocket, ripping it open tossing it. The creature reared back, bizarre bursts of red energy sparking within the shadow.

“What the-” Claire started, salt didn’t do that.

“Stay down.”

Miriam stood in the doorway, eyes flashing with the same red light that trailed down her outstretched arm and out of her palm, zapping the thing. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here,” she said. “You looked around and discovered that the trail was old.”

The shadow-thing hesitated, fighting, before going limp and sulking out the door. Claire whipped around, blade raised. “What was that?”

Miriam rubbed at her palm, flexing her hand. “A reconnaissance spell. I would have killed it but it not reporting back is much more telling than it reporting that it found nothing.”

“What’s it looking for?” Claire asked. “Does it belong to the Winslows?”

“My guess is yes. They’ve been popping up but they don’t…attack. I don’t even know how it touched you. Maybe being close enough to its target?” Miriam paced, yammering. “But if it killed you, it couldn’t report back anyway. Unless it just needs you dead? Man, this is annoying.”

“This has been surprisingly not comforting,” Claire muttered before heading downstairs. She knocked on the iron door “Lola, you okay?”

“What’s the password?” Lola asked, voice muffled.

“Milano,” Claire said.

Lola eased open the door, looking behind Claire to stare at Miriam. “Now we have to change the password.”

+++

Lola hadn’t changed that night, though neither girl had managed to sleep even with Miriam keeping guard. School the next day had been rough but they were recovered enough to be properly excited for the Halloween party by the time Friday rolled around.

Jody swung by the Vault to drop off Lola before her shift to find Claire behind the counter, Captain America mask sitting jauntily on her forehead. Lola bolted for the coffee shop, commandeering one of the tables.

“Last chance,” Jody teased. “I can get a sitter, you can party.”

Claire wasn’t even tempted. “Pass. When you inevitably have to break up that party, I think it will look better if you’re only responsible for three of the party animals.”

Jody huffed. “I didn’t even think of that.”

She gave Claire a quick salute, and $20 for pizza, before heading out for the night. She held the door for two boys entering the Vault, giving an unknowingly friendly nod to Damien and Amos Winslow.

“Captain,” Damien greeted. “Happy Halloween.”

Claire looked him up and down. “And you are?” she asked, noting his lack of costume.

“Um, an adult?”

“That’s dull,” she turned her attention to Amos. “What about you?”

“P-pod person,” he replied.

“I’ve got your book here,” she said, pulling it from the holds. He looked prepared to cash out right away and Claire wasn’t willing to let him go so easily. “How’d you get into _Sandman?_ ”

 

Confident his brother could manage a conversation with Claire in the short time it would take him to get a drink, Damien eased away from the pair toward the counter. He was distracted on his quest, however, by a young blonde girl who appeared to be reading a book of horror stories and was dressed like a tree trunk.

“You like monsters?” he asked, pausing at her table.

She looked up, eyeing him critically, before smiling. “I sure do.”

“What’s your favorite monster?”

“Werewolves,” she replied. “Do you have a favorite monster, Damien?”

His eyes widened and he took a step back. “How do you know my name?”

Lola laughed and held up her phone. “Claire texted me. Stranger danger is real.”

Damien laughed, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Claire, of course, hadn’t texted Lola to assure her of Damien being safe, quite the opposite. He smelled dangerous she could tell, under the hair gel and deodorant there was the distinct hint of gun oil and metal. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was armed even now. But more than that…he smelled _unwell._

“It’s the job of the older sibling to look out for the younger,” Damien said and Lola didn’t correct him that Claire wasn’t her sister. “So monsters. That’s interesting.”

“I like the stories,” Lola carried on as if she were an over-excited child. She was, of course. She did like learning about monsters like herself but if Damien felt like adding to the conversation, he might give away what he was. “I like that they can all be beaten, you know? It’s a…uh, metaphor, I think that’s the word Claire used, for being a person. Like Power and Error’s thwarting angels were Asteraoth and Uriel. So it’s like if you stayed devout and whatever there were things to protect you. But there’s one called the Worst that doesn’t have any enemies, how cool would that be? But I think the old stories are the best like if your town is being overrun with vampires, you just need to stake their hearts.”

“Or cut off their heads,” Damien supplied.

“I expect that would work on just about anything,” Lola said as if not really listening. “But it’s just stories. The monsters are just pretend.”

“You sure?” Damien asked with a grin. “Wouldn’t you want to be a mythical beast?”

“Maybe,” Lola dragged out the word, grinning. “Maybe a Hippogriff. Or maybe something that could go underwater. What kind of monster would you want to be?”

Damien seemed to be thinking very hard. Lola would have been willing to bet he was just playing along except for the distinct scent of _sadness_ that welled up. Heavy, like wet earth and dead things.

“Maybe a phoenix,” he finally decided. “Because they get to live forever.”

 

“I like your co-costume,” Amos said after struggling through his history with _Sandman_. Claire hadn’t fidgeted at all or been annoyed at how long it took him to speak. She certainly didn’t strike out like Rupert was prone to.

“Thanks,” Claire said brightly, fixing her mask. The A in the middle of her forehead kept trying to fall off. “It’s mostly for Lola. She’s got this Marvel thing going on right now. Are you coming to Sidney’s party?”

“Absolutely no-” Amos started but was cut off by Damien clapping him on the shoulder.

“We are, absolutely we are,” he said. “Got to chatting with Groot over there. Your sister is…unique.”

Claire didn’t correct him. “She’s weird, it’s okay. There are worse things for a girl to be than strange. Besides, as long as she remains the “weird girl” no one will date her and break her heart and I’ll never have to teach her how to kill someone.”

“You mean k-kill someone for h-her?” Amos asked.

Claire cocked her head. “How would that make her feel better?”

They said their goodbyes, promising to see her tonight. Damien stopped to introduce Amos to Lola before they wandered out and Claire let out a stressed breath.

“I don’t know if flirting with him is going to make him reveal his dastardly plan,” Miriam spoke up, appearing at the end of the counter.

“Jesus!” Claire shouted, stepping back. “Did you even use the door?”

“I have used doors on occasion,” Miriam said. “Looks like they’re coming to the party then.”

“Looks like,” Claire agreed.

+++

Sidney’s house was ridiculous. Her mom had been married four times, bouncing from a surgeon to a lawyer to some kind of executive and settled with a photographer. They were away a lot, leaving Sidney in charge of her three step siblings and a sprawling farm mansion that was _perfect_ for all sorts of parties.

Claire strapped her mask on and fixed up Lola’s face paint before they let themselves into the house. The party had started hours ago but Claire’s shift at the Vault didn’t let them get there until nine. Music was already pumping, people were dancing and drinking, Lola bounded away to find Tara and Maisie, leaving Claire on her own.

Someone grabbed her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Are you made from real Girl Scouts?”

“Damn it, Alex,” Claire laughed, tugging on one of Alex’s pigtails. Sidney was beside her, their hands clasped, in a striped shirt, with her long hair tucked under a ski cap. “You guys are certainly doing your part to further the Wednesday/Pugsly fandom.”

“How many chances do you get to see Smokey fuck the Bandit?” Sidney quoted, offering Claire her drink.

Claire declined. “I’m on Lola-duty tonight. Do you know everyone here?”

Sidney looked around. “Well sure! That’s a sexy kitten. And that’s Mario. Um…that’s my old friend…chicken…thing. Ha! Football player.”

“I figured I’ll give Lola and Tina an hour or two and we’ll bounce.”

“Hmm,” Alex nodded, looking over her shoulder. “I think you might be staying longer than that.”

Alex was probably right, the Winslow clan had just made their entrance. Damien and Simon were dressed as Greasers: leather jackets over black shirts with rolled jeans, cigarettes tucked behind their ears and sunglasses firmly in place. Amos, however, was still dressed in his regular clothes.

“Kind of a spoil sport,” Alex muttered to Claire.

“He’s a pod person,” Claire defended. “They’re missing two.”

“Josephine’s already here. She came with the rest of the cheerleaders. The youngest girl was like eight, not really her scene.”

“We brought a ten-year-old.”

“ _You_ brought a ten-year-old,” Alex corrected.

“Damien! Simon!” Sidney greeted, ever the hostess. “I’m so glad you could come. This is my girlfriend, Alex. And this is Claire.”

“I’m familiar with Claire. She has a terrifying little sister,” Damien said.

“Lola was reading her monster books at the Vault,” Claire said, tugging at her mask.

Josephine appeared suddenly, clasping Damien’s arm in her slender hand. “Damien, just in time. I need you boys to help me with something.”

Damien turned his concerned gaze on Amos but Claire was ready. “Amos, you look like you want to play a game called Anywhere But Here. Want to go out on the porch?”

 

Maisie approached Tara at the punch bowl, very aware of their new arrivals. She’d set Lola up playing non-alcoholic beer pong with some of their friends. “Would you like to help me with something not at all legal?”

“I would love to, Indy,” Tara replied, following her out onto the front lawn and into the herd of cars.

Maisie hopped up on the tailgate of the nearest truck, scouting the area until her eyes fell on a familiar Jeep. She pulled the lock pick kit from her coat. Totally part of her costume. Totally something Indiana Jones would carry on him. She crouched down at the back end, setting to work on the lock.

“Aren’t you worried about the alarm?” Tara asked from her place as lookout.

“I would be, except I disabled it when I changed his oil,” Maisie said. “It’s funny, you know. People just leave their cars out here, no problem. When I was working down in New Orleans, we didn’t bother with crappy little motels, right, because those people knew they were in shady neighborhoods so they’d take all their shit inside. No, it was the big hotels with parking garages that were chock full of goodies. Security appears good, because they’re nice digs, but there’s rarely anyone watching the monitors even if the cameras work. People would leave wallets, phones, a literal duffle of money-”

“You didn’t take that, did you?” Headlights from a sporty little car cut through the night, tearing off down the driveway.

“Definitely not,” Maisie said, lock coming undone with a _click._ “I have no desire to be murdered by Russians. What do we have here? Devil’s Traps on your doors? Hex bags? Methinks the Winslows are up to no good.”

“Maybe they’re hunters?”

“Maybe,” Maisie hummed, taking a few pictures. She tugged at the floor latch, revealing the small space below that should have been filled with a spare tire. Instead there were a multitude of weapons, a laptop and hard drive, and some boxes. “Here we go.”

She flipped open one box to find it filled with ammo. “Shit, we’ve got silver bullets and salt rounds. This one is…ah, more hex bags,” she took a picture of them. The next held a syringe of some kind, as long as her forearm with a deadly needle. She took a picture of that too. There was also a jar of what she was ninety-percent sure was dead man’s blood. “This can’t be good.”

“If they’re not hunters,” Tara said. “They obviously don’t want _anything_ getting in their way.”

“I’ll have to check but I don’t think hunters mess with hex bags,” Maisie pointed out.

Tara shrugged. “You and I have been studying magic though. Never know when it might come in handy, maybe they’re doing the same thing.”

“So we could all be on the same team?” Maisie shook her head. “I dunno, I got-”

“Please don’t say, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’” Tara interrupted.

“But I do have a bad feeling about this,” Maisie argued.

“ _Junior_ ,” Tara whispered a warning and Maisie made quick work of replacing the box, trap door, and relocking the Jeep. She scrubbed her finger prints from the handle.

The girls broke into a fake argument about a fake boyfriend that they were both fake in love with before the group of students stumbled upon them.

 

“I can’t believe you came,” Claire tugged her blue sweatshirt tighter around her. The porch was screened in but still chilly enough that most people stayed inside. There was a small group in the corner passing a joint and another group sprawled out on the patio furniture. Miriam was among them but made no notice of Claire and Amos.

“It was a h-hostage situation,” Amos chuckled. “Damien had the car and I was t-trapped. He said he liked your s-sister. Thought she was neat.”

“She loves to read,” Claire said. “Keeps her busy when she has to hang out at the Vault.”

“Does she stay there a lot?”

“Jody’s pretty busy,” Claire shut down questions about her, instead asking what he thought of his recent purchases. Which led to talking about books. Then movies and TV shows. School.

 _“No, the trick with Mr. Wexler is to get him talking about bands. He’ll pull up a slideshow and go into a forty minute lecture about_ Slayer _using soundwaves to make people sick,” Claire said when Amos complained about their science teacher._

_Amos told a story about Simon learning to drive. Him and Damien had taken him to an empty parking lot and started shouting opposing instructions to him, resulting in Simon hitting the only light pole in the whole damn lot. “To this d-day the Jeep pulls to the left.”_

Eventually, Lola strolled out of the house, bleary-eyed. “Claire, I’m tired.”

Claire checked her watch. “Shit, I should have had you home an hour ago.”

They found Alex and Sidney absolutely crushing the Joker and Harley Quinn at beer pong.

“I’m taking Lola home,” she told Alex, shouting over the music. She struggled with a basically sleeping Lola until Amos came to her rescue, helping the girl stay upright.

“Text me when you get home,” Alex shouted back.

She turned, planning on saying goodnight to Amos, only to see Lola in a piggyback carry on his back, hands clenched tight in his collar. He followed her diligently out to the Silverado, even helping her buckle the little girl in.

“Oh geez,” Claire said. “She got that paint all over your neck, I’m sorry.” She brushed at the skin behind his ear and felt her gaze drop to his mouth. She quickly averted it, noting his collar was askew but halted when she reached to fix it. There was a small network of red lines on his chest, like infected veins, barely peeking out through the gap in his shirt. He noticed her stare and made quick work of buttoning up.

“It’ll wash off. Th-thanks for hanging out with me. I’m gonna find Damien,” he pointed over his shoulder and headed back toward the party like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Hey,” Claire stopped him. “You want a ride home?”

Amos wheezed out a sigh. “I would l-love that.”

 

She wasn’t technically breaking the rules. She wasn’t alone with him. Lola was in the backseat, asleep but there. Miriam was hiding in the bed. Unless Amos and Miriam were working together, of course, but Claire really didn’t think so. The pistol hidden along her seat was also a comfort.

“Is s-she growling in her sleep?” Amos asked, looking over the seat at Lola.

“Kids,” Claire huffed and rolled her eyes, adjusting the mask so she could drive. “How are you liking the new house?”

“You mean the incredibly old house? It’s nice. Drafty. Probably not h-haunted.”

“Well you know who to call if it is,” Claire said.

“Ghostbusters?” Amos grinned, pushing his glasses up.

In the dim light of the dashboard she could still see the red veins decorating his chest through the gap in his button up. Was it part of a tattoo, perhaps? Amos didn’t seem the type to get inked but to each their own. He also seemed adamant about keeping it covered. It was him being kind to Lola that had led to the discovery anyway. Probably not a tattoo then. She wouldn’t ask, didn’t want to make him aware that she knew about it.

“Here’s good,” he said as she slowed down before the turn where the mailbox still said Rizack. The house was a tilted silhouette on the horizon, but the stain-glass window depicting a rose was brightly lit, acting a small harvest moon in the sky.

“You sure?” Claire asked but stopped the truck anyway. “It’s like a quarter mile to the house.”

“M-my dad and s-sister are asleep. I wouldn’t want to w-wake them. I mean it, Cl-claire. It was really nice talking to you t-tonight.”

“You too, Amos,” she said brightly, keeping her hands firm on the steering wheel. She was dangerously close to touching him and would never hear the end of it if Lola woke up.

“Oh,” he reached over, fumbling with the mask in her hair before holding the little white A in her eye line. “You were about to l-lose this.”

“You know what,” she closed his palm around it, cursing herself out the whole time. “Keep it.”

Amos leaned forward slowly, nervously, pressing a dry kiss to the very corner of her mouth. “H-happy Halloween, Claire.”

+++

Amos let himself in the house as quietly as possible. The front room was dark and empty, the dining room too. The light in the kitchen had been left on for the kids but Amos headed upstairs. He paused at Rupert’s door, surprised to find it partially open.

Against his better instincts, Amos pushed open the door and peeked inside. The shadow monsters his father sent out on reconnaissance were a black mass in the darkest corner of the room, buzzing slightly as if asleep. But the bed was empty.

Rupert being out that late at night didn’t bode well for anybody.

But, Amos reasoned as he climbed the stairs to the attic, Claire was safe. She promised to text him when she got home. He’d barely heard her over the rushing in his ears. What had he been thinking? Kissing her? What right did he have doing that, knowing his family would kill her if they had the chance? He should just run. Leave. Get the hell out of Sioux Falls.

But at least if he stayed, he could protect her.

He brushed his teeth and showered, careful to avoid looking at his chest. He knew what he’d see. The burning, red blossom over his heart, going black in the center, tendrils of infection radiating out like spider legs. Claire had seen it, he was sure, but she’d said nothing. He almost wished she’d ask. Then he could tell her.

To run.

He climbed the creaky stairs to the attic, expecting to find Hallie passed out in her blankets but she was awake, standing in front of the rose window.

“Hello, Amos,” she said, lucid.

“Hallie,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“It’s Halloween,” she said. She turned, tank top revealing the blistering mark across her own heart. “Everything is very quiet right now.”

“Good for sleeping then, huh?” he kneeled at the bookshelf, doing his best to hide his selection from her.

“She won’t save us all,” Hallie said, suddenly right at Amos’s shoulder. He dropped the book and the white letter A he’d had crushed in his hand.

Hallie picked up _The Rapture._ Her pale fingers slid over the front cover, tracing the blue tie of the man pictured there. She touched the bottom of his tan trench coat, his messy black hair. Then she leafed through the pages, coming to the very first mention of Claire Novak. Hallie delicately tucked the A against the binding before replacing the book on the shelf.

She pressed her index finger against her lips in conspiracy.

+++

Claire woke up groggy and sore with Groot-paint smeared across her face from carrying Lola to bed.

She had to get this little crush out of her head. They were clearly bad news, the whole lot of Winslows. She trusted Miriam, she did, and Miriam didn’t trust them. So what, _what_ was she thinking not only spending time with Amos at the party, but then offering to drive him home? It wasn’t to gather information, as she hadn’t made a point to ask any leading questions. Then again, neither had he.

She groaned, doing her best to suffocate herself with her pillow.

He just seemed so lonely and sad. He seemed like…well, her, actually. Her before she’d arrived at Jody’s and into their little Babysitters Club. She felt for him. They had the same taste in books and movies, TV. She _liked_ him. And his stupid glasses. And his stupid face.

“Ugh,” she finally rolled out of bed and stomped downstairs. Intent on making waffles she was surprised to find Jody, Maisie and Tara already at the table. Neither of the girls were morning people. At all.

“What’s up?” Claire asked.

Jody looked up, hair mussed from taking off and putting on her hat, with deep, deep circles under her eyes that said last night had been a rough one.

“Becca Allan was found dead in the woods,” Jody said.

 

End of Episode 2

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode title taken from Alabama Shakes 'You Ain't Alone'


	3. Colder Than This Home

1x03: Colder Than This Home

 

“What do we know?” Claire asked, falling into detective mode with alarming ease.

She bee-lined it for the coffee pot, pouring herself half a cup. It wouldn’t do much, caffeine-wise. She’d already stayed out later than planned last night, all while knowing she had work in the morning. Figuring the warm mug might help fight off the chill, Claire pressed her palms against the ceramic until they burned.

Jody answered robotically, keeping herself professionally removed. “She was found a few blocks from her house, a little after 10:30. Bruised up. Um-” Jody’s voice wavered. “Very bruised up. Her stuff was gone. Someone must have gotten the jump on her.”

“It had to have been more than one,” Tina said from the doorway, causing the others to spin and look at her. Her eyes were still running over with tears but she wasn’t bothering to wipe them away.

“Tina,” Maisie said sadly. “I’m sorry. I know you were friends.”

Tina shrugged, slender arms wrapped around her small, sweater-draped frame. “It sucks being the new kid.”

“She was new?” Jody questioned, earning a nod from Tina.

“What do you mean, more than one?” Claire asked.

It was something she might have jotted down, a note to keep in mind. But the Mills household, no matter how safe, was not a fortress. The last thing Jody needed was a fellow officer dropping by to discover classified investigations spread out across the table like homework. There were only a few rules at their place such as: _don’t write anything down_ and _help may not be coming, be ready to save yourself._

“Becca grew up in New York City, she took Krav Maga and Judo. Lance surprised her a few days ago at her locker, just touched her shoulder when she wasn’t expecting it, and she laid him out flat.”

“Isn’t Lance a linebacker?” Tara asked.

“Ergo, more than one,” Tina nodded.

“It’s consistent with the wounds,” Jody thought back to the crime scene. “There was blood on her neck but it wasn’t a bite and she wasn’t drained. And apparently the local vampires have already been exterminated. This might not be supernatural at all but I thought I should give you girls a heads up.”

“Human assholes, makes for a change,” Tara mumbled.

“Speak for yourself,” Maisie replied. “Well, not to point fingers but I’m still getting squicky-vibes from the Winslows.”

“But we know they were at the party last night,” Tara volleyed back. “Did Amos seem okay?”

Claire studied the table with absolute concentration.

“Why would Claire know if Amos was okay last night?” Jody asked slowly.

“We were just talking,” Claire said.

“On the porch,” Tara added.

“In the moonlight,” Maisie leered.

“I know you think you’re teasing but you’re getting me in legitimate trouble,” Claire rubbed at her temples. She turned to Jody. “Seriously, he didn’t ask any strange questions. And Miriam was there the whole time, even when I drove-”

Maisie winced.

“Drove him home?” Jody finished. “With Lola in the car?”

“Well,” Claire started. “In retrospect…”

“Claire, you’re a smart girl. You know better than that.”

“Nothing happened!”

“This time!” Jody argued.

“I felt bad for him, he seemed lonely. He didn’t want to stay at the party. He had me drop him off at the end of the driveway. I wasn’t anywhere near the house. He didn’t say anything weird or try to talk me into his murder house. Maybe he’s just a nice guy.”

“People say that about serial killers all the time,” Tara said.

Claire was on her feet a second later, ready to storm away but Maisie’s calloused hand caught her wrist. “I know you like him, Claire. And I’m really sorry. But you should see this.”

She retrieved her phone while Claire shot an apologetic look at Tara.

“What’s this?” Jody asked, flipping through the pictures.

“Nothing that will hold up in court,” Maisie replied. “While everyone was distracted at the party last night I took a closer look at Simon’s Jeep. Hex bags, silver rounds…”

“Hunters, maybe?” Tina asked.

Claire shook her head. “Miriam mentioned hunting immediately, the Winslows didn’t.”

“It’s not a word you’d just throw around. Miriam obviously already knew who Claire was, which is probably another thing we should be discussing,” Jody said. “You’re telling me that at ten o’clock last night, Amos was with Claire and the other kids were at the Halloween party?”

The remark was met with silence.

+++

 

“If they left, they didn’t take the Jeep,” Maisie slammed the door of the Silverado.

Claire started it up, steering for town. “Josephine grabbed Damien and Simon as soon as they got to the party. The only one we have a definite alibi for is Amos.”

“Isn’t that convenient?” Maisie muttered.

“I know you’re pissed at me-”

The red-haired girl let out a chuckle. “I’m not pissed, I’m scared. What the hell is going on with you? Tara said you gawked.”

“I did _not_ gawk at him!”

“She said you gawked and told him you liked his shoes. You never talk to anyone, Claire. I’m not saying it to be mean,” Maisie continued on before Claire could interrupt her. “It just is what it is. You’ve been a total Hermione since you got settled here and suddenly this boy shows up and you’re Lavender Brown.”

Claire stopped sharply in front of Red’s Auto, tires sliding on the snowy cement. “He’s cute, okay? What? What, I’m not allowed to think a boy is cute and want to talk to him?”

Maisie gave her a blank stare. “Conventionally, he is not cute. Not really. To be perfectly honest, he’s kind of a dweeb.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“This is what I’m talking about!” Maisie pushed Claire’s shoulder. “You are the first person to call anyone a dweeb! Or a doofus or an asshole. Alex said the first week you were here, one of the football players called you “cutie” and you told him to get bent. So if he’s special, okay. I will back you up one-hundred percent, you know that. But I need you to look at this objectively, without love-sick goggles. If it was me or Tara or Alex—bad example Alex was a lunatic for Sid from the get-go—if it was any of us doing this you’d think we’d been bewitched.”

“I imagine you and Sabrina have talked about this.”

“Tara’s stopping by The Crow and Crown later for supplies. It’s a simple spell, just to check if there are any enchantments around you.”

“And this will make you feel better?”

“It’ll help and I think you’ll feel better too.”

“Pick you up at five,” Claire dismissed, forehead pressed into the steering wheel, and Maisie hopped out onto the street, giving her a quick wave as she went.

After years of being an only child, Claire would have sworn suddenly having five sisters would make her crazy. It turned out she kind of liked it.

 

+++

 

Tara took to autumn in Sioux Falls like fire on a house. There was something about the crisp chill, the impending threat of snow that was capable of shutting down the whole town (resulting in no choice but to stay in with tea and read), the crunch of sleet under her boots. She liked the cold even though it made her leg ache.

It was the exact opposite, after all, from the oppressive, damp heat from the doomed camping trip that had stolen her family.

Tara hadn’t wanted to go hiking that day. Hadn’t wanted to go camping at all, in fact. She was thirteen and the idea of spending the day at Red Wing, in the woods with her parents and her little sister made her want to _die._

She’d told them that. Thought about it a lot after the attack with the kind of retrospective mortification that usually came with doing something embarrassing. This was so much worse. Had she known, had she _known_ what that day would bring…well, hindsight. She would have asked her mom about the book she had been reading, what she thought of it, what she was going to read next. She’d ask her dad about fishing and she’d find it fascinating this time. She’d thank him for the hunter orange jacket he’d insisted she wear that morning. She would have followed Vanessa and her parents off the trail to the small cave that Nessa swore was “just over here.”

Instead, she’d leaned petulantly against a tree, arms crossed, bitching about shitty phone service.

And then there was screaming. Her father throwing himself at her. Running. Falling. Water. Pain.

It had taken rescue workers hours to find her in the river, the orange jacket spotted from a helicopter. She woke up a week later in Stillwater to learn that her family had been slaughtered by some kind of bear and that, due to the break and the water, her leg had to be amputated just above the knee.

Donna had come at nearly midnight, flashing a badge to get passed the night nurses, to explain what really happened with words like _wendigo_ and _fire_ and _so sorry._

And now, over a year later, it felt like it had all happened to someone else. Of course, it had, when she really considered it. The Tara that followed her family into the woods was not the one walking down Phillips Avenue toward 7th Street.

Tara stopped at the overlook on the Big Sioux to get her breathing back under control and stretch her thigh. Walking was harder these days. Playing whatever asinine game Lola came up with was easier. Sleeping was harder. Focusing on other people’s problems was easier.

She finally pushed open the door to The Crow and the Crown, the little new age apothecary tucked away in a line of river front shops. She’d been in this one a few times, enough that the gray-haired woman behind the counter gave her a friendly wave and didn’t ask if she needed help.

Tara picked out the herbs first. A small bag of hyssop, small purple petals peeking out through the mess of browning green, along with a bag of rue leaves. The whole thing would set her back a little under twenty bucks but Maisie had slipped her cash to help out.

“Uncrossing Oil?” the woman at the counter asked. “You’re missing bay leaves.”

“I have them at home,” Tara answered.

The woman gave her a deep stare, tapping her change idly between them. “I’m Ramona.”

“Tara.”

“You’ve been in here a lot. How long have you been practicing?”

Tara was just about to answer when a shrill giggle came from the front of the store. A group of kids she recognized from school had meandered in, spreading through the dark interior of the shop.

“What do you think?” one of the girls asked, draping an altar cloth around her neck. “Do I look witchy?”

“Oh my God,” another said, holding up a wooden pentagram and a bundle of sage. “If I take up witchcraft my parents will flip. I saw the cutest lace-up boots, could really go for the whole look.”

“We should put a love spell on Richie,” the first girl called back.

Tara shared an extended eye roll with Ramona.

“Hmm,” Ramona said after a moment. “I could use some help around the shop, if you’re interested. My college kids are wanting to go home for break.”

“I would,” Tara gave a sad smile, aware that her dream job was dangling right in front of her. Working in a freaking occult shop, c’mon. “But I’m only fifteen.”

Ramona shrugged, handing over the bag. “I’m not opposed to running things under the table, as they say.”

“I should also mention I live with the town sheriff.”

“Jody?” Ramona frowned thoughtfully before nodding. She took off, bustling around the shop, plucking things from shelves and pots before returning to the counter. “Then you’ll definitely be in need of some training.”

“Training?”

“You want to learn the art, don’t you? You’ve a gift for it, that’s certain. Those girls,” Ramona leaned over the worn wood counter toward her, bagging items and writing out labels before tucking everything in a paper sack. “I’m not saying they won’t have hardships, they will. Nothing like yours though, love. And that kind of struggle, that kind of pain, life has a way of balancing out, rewarding you for pulling through.”

“So my family dies and I get superpowers?” Tara huffed a laugh. “No.”

“You’re simplifying it in a way it’s not,” Ramona replied. “You touched death, you can’t walk away from that unchanged. It’s left you with an extraordinary gift. One you’ll use to help many people if you apply yourself. Discuss it with Jody, talk it over with your girls. Hell, send Jody down here, she’ll be about out of tea.”

Ramona pushed the paper sack into her hands. “You’ll be needing this.”

It was at least four times as heavy as the bag she’d intended to leave with, nearly bursting. “I can’t afford that.”

Ramona pressed it further into her hands. “You can’t afford _not_ to have it.”

 

+++

 

“The witch lady offered you a job?” Maisie exclaimed later that night as they gathered in the living room around the bowl, olive oil glistening against the copper in the candlelight. “I am so jealous.”

“I have to talk it over with Jody,” Tara replied, separating the hyssop petals from the stems, sprinkling the petals along the bottom. “It’d be cool though, wouldn’t it?”

“You could totally pull off the look too,” Claire said, sitting across from them on the floor.

“You’re just as bad as those girls,” Tara chided. “An altar cloth as a scarf, unbelievable. I’d have to find out if Ramona is legitimate. I mean she knew stuff but any Google search of my name is going to bring up the attack. Normally, I’d trust my instincts that she’s okay but that goes in direct opposition from what we’re doing here right now.”

“I said I _think_ he’s okay.”

“Oh,” Maisie smirked, handing the bay and rue leaves over to Tara. “That makes all the difference.”

Tara scooted closer to the bowl, artificial leg outstretched, while Maisie hit the lights. “So how does this work?” Claire asked.

“Well,” Tara drew out the word like she wasn’t sure. “It’s for curse-breaking, technically, but can be used to clear away evil energy. I’m hoping it will either let us know if something’s wrong or take care of it all together.”

“Hoping,” Claire repeated.

“Magic, at its core, is all about intention. I intend to figure out if you’re cursed and I believe this is how we’ll do that. How the curse, if there is one, shows itself or whatever…is going to be a bit of a surprise for us all. But we love surprises!”

“No, we don’t,” Maisie reminded.

“Then we’re intending to pretend that we do.”

“Let’s just do it,” Claire sighed. “I’ve got a paper due Monday that I have written none of.”

Tara closed her eyes, breathing deeply to center herself, mostly because it felt like something she was supposed to do. It was the kind of thing all the books said: breathe, cast a circle starting with the North and summon protective angels. She understood the idea, focus, but felt she could focus just as easily on casting the spell while carrying on a conversation with Maisie and Claire.

She swished the copper bowl around a few times, making sure all the rue, bay and hyssop were well coated in oil before lighting a match and dropping it into the bowl. The flame leapt up, burning bright white, and waiting for her instructions.

“Claire Novak,” Tara commanded.

The fire sparked, whipping around the room in a shining streak before hovering in front of Claire. It spread, tendrils spiraling around her like a Disney princess until it exploded in a rush of blue.

“Holy,” Maisie breathed from behind Tara. “Shit.”

Tara was slack-jawed and wide-eyed, watching Claire like a wild animal. “Um.”

“So no curse then?” Claire asked, moving to stand but Tara’s hand shot out, keeping her seated. “What?”

“Claire…”

“Did it work?” Claire glanced between them. “I don’t feel any different. I still think Amos is cute. Am I supposed to feel weird or…what? What?!”

“Tara,” Maisie stuttered, still looking just beyond Claire. “Did…did it work?”

“I don’t think,” Tara swallowed. “I don’t think you can be cursed.”

“Why…”

Claire finally turned, following their eye line to see what was so startling.

They shined like diamond dust. At least sixteen-feet across and made up of the glowing, fine lines of a lightning burn. A pair of ghost wings sprouted from Claire’s back. There was no weight to them, nothing that made them feel like they belong to her or were really there at all. It was more an impression of them. They fluttered breezily as if stretching, as if they were ordinarily tucked tight around her.

Tara dumped the pitcher of water into the copper bowl, ending the spell, and the wings disappeared with a quiet _whump-whump._

“Oh,” Claire said to the floor. “So one time I got possessed by an angel.”

Maisie blinked rapidly, trying to disperse the shadow from her eyes. “And this never came up?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant?” Claire replied, helping Tara to her feet before they started cleaning up. “It was years ago and not for very long. I didn’t expect side effects. I mean, besides losing my entire family but that one happened pretty quickly. They shouldn’t be allowed to sneak up on you after _years._ ”

“Claire,” Tara said. “We all agreed that none of us were obligated to share the tragic backstories that brought us here but that spell…it did what I wanted. It showed me what I needed to see. You aren’t under any spells, frankly, I think any spell would run off you like water. It might be interesting to-”

“Focus,” Claire muttered.

“Right,” Tara nodded, easing herself into a chair. “I don’t know what it means, as far as angels go, but I’ll do some research…”

“I can make a call if I have to,” Claire shrugged. “The guy, angel, his name’s Castiel. He hangs out in Kansas now with some hunters.”

Tara and Maisie stared at her, flummoxed.

“He tends to overreact when I’m in trouble so I would prefer not to make that call until I am… in trouble. Actually, all three of them tend to freak out, so. Let’s agree that this didn’t happen for now.”

Tara gripped her metal knee and nodded.

Maisie hugged herself, palms lying flat over her ribs. She could feel the raised lines and bumps of scar tissue through her shirt. Claire’s scars may not be visible, but they werethere, and Maisie was the last one who would go picking at them.

 

+++

 

The crash of the kitchen table slamming into the wall woke Amos from a sleep filled with golden hair and blue eyes. There was no lull in noise, no point where he considered it over, the vases were shattered next, one by one. He rolled over but was startled to find Hallie staring at him, nose barely an inch from his own.

“There’s a monster in the dining room,” she whispered.

“Stay here,” Amos commanded, climbing to his feet. He pulled on his glasses and shoes, throwing on an extra sweater just in case his father whipped out the knives again. “Hallie, you listening? You don’t come down there for anything.”

The china cabinet was in pieces by the time Amos rounded the corner and Rupert was making the remaining glass inside pop like fireworks. It was better to take the brunt now between the four of them than be caught alone later.

Simon and Damien stood straight-backed against the wall, eyes down, doing their best not to shake. Amos noted that their clothes were dirty, hands caked in dry blood. Rupert was seething, pacing erratically along the far wall as chaos reigned through the dining room, chandelier swinging. “You swore,” Rupert spat at Josephine, curled in the far corner, knees to her forehead with her hands pressed over her ears.

“I-I,” she tried, tiny lacerations crawling up and down her arms. “D-dad!”

“You swore it was her!”

“I thought it was!” Josephine finally choked out. “It was a-all there! She just moved here and she was so strong!”

“I’ve seen her strength!” Rupert said, indicating his black eye.

“Then you k-know!” Josephine cried. “It was a mistake! I can do better.”

Amos winced. Last night’s adventure had obviously gone poorly. “What happened?” he breathed to Damien.

Damien nodded to the dirty syringe on the table and his lips didn’t move when he replied. “Wrong girl.”

 “You are aware of what I said would happen if any more of my time was wasted?”

Josephine sobbed.

Amos felt the world tilt beneath him. No. He wouldn’t. _Couldn’t._ Rupert had made the threat in another rage haze, too terrible to even be considered possible. He met Damien’s dread-filled stare, glanced over at Simon to find the same look of horror stretched across his face.

_We have to do something,_ Amos mouthed.

_Like what?_ Simon said back.

“P-please,” Josephine howled. “I can do better, let me-”

“Dad,” Damien spoke up.

Rupert rounded on them and a pair of knives planted themselves into the wall on either side of his head. Damien didn’t flinch. “We just need to concentrate on our search. Stop trying to fit in and get to work.”

Rupert’s sudden stillness was more frightening than anything.

“The trouble is,” he said, voice soft so they had to strain to hear over Josephine’s cries. “I cannot make a threat and not carry it out, Damien. How are you children to know I’m to be obeyed?”

“We do obey, father.”

“Then obey appropriately and bring me what I need, what _we_ need, or else…” He closed in on Josephine who did her best to curl into nothing but his hand found her throat. He tugged her bodily to her feet.

“Dad!” Simon shouted, stepping forward only to be thrown back against the wall. “Dad, no! Dad!”

Damien nearly made it, closing half the distance between them before Rupert tossed him effortlessly into the broken remains of the cabinet. Rupert kept him down by embedding two shards of glass through Damien’s palms, pinning him to the floor.

Rupert’s spider-like fingers curled easily around the pale stretch of Josephine’s neck, his other palm coming to rest over her heart. The blackened veins of infection below lit up red, pulsing, sputtering. Josephine howled, scratching at her father’s face and eyes with growing weakness.

Amos peeled himself away from the wall, bolting forward until he secured an elbow under Rupert’s jaw, wrenching back with all his strength. It was useless, like pulling against a thunderstorm. He kicked Rupert’s knees, leaving his face open for the elbow Rupert drove into it. His glasses broke, blood spattering over both of them, making Amos useless and Josephine slippery.

It did no more than buy her a few moments. Enough time to slip quietly into unconsciousness before her father crouched over her and stole the rest of her life.

Rupert rose slowly, turning away from his dead daughter to inspect the damage done to his sons. “If you considered my threats idle before, you know I am finished playing around.”

“It’s not a game!” Damien hissed.

“It most certainly is not. Now you know the stakes. Either the curse your mother placed on you kills you,” Rupert breezed out the front door. “Or I do.”

No one moved until they heard the tired switch from gravel to asphalt. Simon collapsed next to Josephine, pulling her into his lap. “This is so fucked up. Damien, Damien, what do we do? It’s one of us next. Or Hallie. Jesus, he’s going to kill Hallie. Where the hell is this girl?”

Damien let Amos wrap his bleeding hands in a ripped handkerchief, trying to catch his eye. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“Then we look harder!” Simon shouted. “Or kill ‘em all!”

“Or run,” Damien suggested.

“Where? Where c-could we go that he couldn’t track us? We’ve got a m-month at best anyway,” Amos said. “We should k-kill the old man and be done with it.”

“You think you could pull the trigger, Stutters?” Simon sneered.

Amos glared at him, looking all the more savage for the blood smeared over his face. “H-he didn’t hesitate to kill Josephine.”

“Damien?” They said at the same time.

“What do we do?” Simon asked, shaking hands wiping the terrified tears from his sister’s face.

Damien held his aching hands to his chest. Running wasn’t an option, not really. Rupert had barely broken a sweat taking the three of them down and if he was running on Josephine’s power now he was even more dangerous to them. He’d find them in minutes.

It was, for this same reason, unlikely they’d be able to kill him.

What they needed was help. What they needed was a miracle.

“Get the gasoline,” he ordered.

“You’ve g-got to be fucking kidding me,” Amos sighed.

“We need to get rid of the body.”

+++

End of Episode 3


	4. Howl

1x04: Howl

Claire made lists in her head while she ran. It was a hardwired habit from her days on the street, a way to keep herself from acknowledging her surroundings. As long as she was focused on what she needed to shoplift from the mini-mart, she didn’t think about how cold she was. If she counted all the letter A’s on the signs around her, she could ignore the growling of her stomach.

Granted, the distraction was not so dire now but repeating a list kept her feet moving when she’d rather be curled up on the couch watching Netflix. She couldn’t wear headphones out here on the dirt roads and the pounding of her feet just reminded her that her lungs hurt.

  1. Amos



She didn’t want to think about Amos.

  1. The Winslows



For starters, Josephine had been out all week at school. Tina had brought them the news from cheerleading practice on Wednesday. Astrid reported, with a huff, that it was Mono and that now all the formations would have to be reconfigured. The others, specifically the one Claire was not thinking of, _had_ been at school all week. Though he’d done nothing more than give her a quick smile in the halls, steering clear.

Jody couldn’t look into Josephine until her absence became excessive.

  1. The wings



She still hadn’t called Castiel and wasn’t planning on it anytime soon. Until she had actual news there was no reason to bother him. He still texted her every few days just to check in. She lied, assuring him that everything was fine.

  1. Amos



Okay, so she was thinking about him. Maybe Tara and Maisie were right, her brain was messed up. Not some kind of spell, of course, just…just hormones. Something Claire always thought herself above. She didn’t picture dinners by candlelight with Amos, or walks through the woods where they held hands and she counted the different colors in his eyes.

That so wasn’t Claire.

In the nebulous future, the one she never banked on because her life was ridiculous and frankly she’d be lucky to see thirty, she saw a house. That was pretty much it. Maybe a dog or some cats. If there was someone, when she let herself think about it, they’d be like Amos. Quiet. Someone she could exist around but didn’t have to coddle.

Really, she’d be better off with the cats.

Miriam appeared beside her out of thin air, matching pace. She wasn’t remotely dressed for running. Well, maybe running to or away from a disaster in her boots and leather jacket, but she wasn’t dressed for running a quick 5k on the dirt roads back toward Sioux Falls.

“You do this for fun?” she asked, not even breathless.

“No,” Claire huffed. “I run now so I can run later.”

Miriam carried on for a quarter-mile before sighing, “This is incredibly dull.”

“It’s two miles to home and no one made you come along.”

“Two miles?” she repeated. “That’ll take you, what? Ten minutes?”

“Closer to twenty,” Claire said.

Miriam stopped so Claire did too. “Sorry, that’s not fast enough.”

“Well _sorry,_ but some of us are human.”

“No, I mean. You need to get home now.”

“What?” Claire clutched her side, massaging a stitch.

Miriam didn’t explain, just tapped her fingers against Claire’s temple.

The world lurched and Claire found herself on the porch, Miriam at her shoulder.

“Claire?” Maisie pushed through the screen door, glancing between the girls. “I’ve been calling you, geez. Thanks, Miriam, seriously.”

Claire riffled through the bag at her hip, phone suddenly lighting up in her hands. “No reception. What’s going on? How do you know Miriam?”

“I came looking for you,” the short-haired girl said. “Figured you’d be at home but you weren’t…and when I got here…”

“What?” Claire asked, adding _can teleport_ to the list she was keeping about Miriam.

“It’s Lola,” Maisie said, face stricken. “She won’t wake up.”

+++

“She’s burning up,” Claire reported, hand pressed to Lola’s sweaty forehead. “You called Jody?”

Maisie shook her head. “Left a message, couldn’t get her. Tara and Tina are grabbing some books and on their way back. Her temp is 109. I already changed her pajamas once and she’s nearly sweat through these too. I mean, do we dunk her? Ice her?”

“She needs a hospital,” Miriam said.

Claire and Maisie had a sudden stare down.

“We can’t,” Maisie said.

“Why?” Miriam asked.

“Because she’s...well, she isn’t…”

“Human,” Claire finished, carefully. “She isn’t human.”

Miriam nodded then smiled. “I already knew that, but it’s nice to know you trust me.”

“It’s too early for her change though,” Maisie argued, returning with a fresh bowl of cold water and a cloth. “Two weeks off. Though she didn’t change before so…maybe she’s, what, late? Early?”

“This hasn’t happened before,” Claire replied, dabbing at Lola’s forehead. “Lo?” she asked quietly. “You with me, sweetie?”

Lola’s eyes cracked open, iris’s flashing pale yellow. She heaved a breath, “C-Claire. It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“All of it,” she shuddered and Claire realized her hands were icy. “I can’t…I gotta…”

“We’re working on it, okay?” she promised, tucking the blanket around Lola’s neck, even as Lola fought her. “Miriam? Any ideas?”

Miriam brushed her fingers through Lola’s damp hair and the little girl nudged into her palm like a puppy, snuffling. “That’ll help with the pain but whatever is happening…it’s really got a hold on her. When she changes…how is she?”

“Docile,” Claire said. “For the most part. We used to let her run but a hunter took a shot at her one night so we’ve had to lock her in the panic room. She hates it but she understands it’s for her…for all of our safety.”

“You can’t keep a dog caged,” Miriam said.

“She isn’t a dog!” Claire hissed, checking Lola’s pupils. Her eyes were shiny now, glassy. Distant. “She’s a little girl.”

Miriam moved closer, spreading one palm across Lola’s forehead, the other falling to cup her jaw. She burrowed into the little girl’s mind. It threw up defenses, false leads and distractions, but Miriam wasn’t fooled. She ignored the cries and screaming, moving deliberately toward the one place Lola didn’t want her to be: a slightly ajar kitchen door.

She knocked twice on the door jamb and immediately Lola’s little face peeked through.

“ _I know what you are,”_ Lola said. “ _I can smell it. You’re not welcome here.”_

Then the door slammed shut and Miriam was booted out.

“Geez, she’s strong,” Miriam muttered.

“What did you do?” Claire asked, forcing Miriam away.

“Just had a look. She’s walled up, it’s like a security measure. She retreats to a safe place in her mind. Away from…this. The sickness and pain, it keeps her from feeling it.”

“Thank goodness for small blessings then,” Maisie said.

The screen door slammed and Tara’s awkward footsteps pounded down the hall. She didn’t say hello to anyone when she entered the room, simply started talking. “Grabbed everything we had on werewolves and beasties. Now, there’s nothing about these hybrid things but I’m thinking it might be some kind of virus.”

“Wolf Flu?” Claire asked, helping Tina with a stack of books.

“Why not?” Tara responded. “It’s a place to start. First, silver. We cleared the house out except for the emergency trunk in the living room. Maisie, go through the house, maybe something got in without us spotting it.”

“She’d have to be cut with it to get silver poisoning,” Miriam pointed out as Maisie left the room.

Tina shrugged. “Better safe.”

The screen door opened again and the girls threw each other panicked glances, not expecting anyone else. Miriam was up in a flash, moving between the bed and the doorway, fists clenched.

Jody took in the scene before her. Tara was on the floor, surrounded by leather-bound books and papers. Claire was holding Lola’s hand, blue eyes wide and fixed on the door. And some strange girl with short hair was between them, looking at Jody as if she were an intruder.

“Jody,” Claire breathed and the short-haired girl’s fists relaxed.

“What is going on?” Jody switched into Mom Mode, taking temperatures and checking pulses. “One-eleven, that can’t be right.”

“It’s gone up,” Maisie said, returning. “Nothing new. We’d probably see a wound anyway. And if she ate it…well, she’s smarter than that, frankly. She wasn’t at breakfast so I came to wake her up. She huffed a bit so I told her five more minutes…I just…I thought she was whining so I left her alone. I’m sorry, I should have-”

“Maisie,” Jody said calmly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Maisie said. “If I’d realized sooner, maybe, but you know how she is. I went to haul her out and then I noticed the fever.”

“Miriam,” Claire said, indicating her to Jody. “Said Lo’s kind of locked herself away. Put up a wall.”

Miriam could feel Jody’s gaze pounding into her in a completely non-magical way. There was very little trust there. It seemed Claire’s goodwill toward her wasn’t enough for the sheriff. She stiffened under the scrutiny.

“Oh!” Tara gasped, shoving the books aside to bolt from the room. She returned before anyone could utter a word. “We can talk to her!”

“We’ve been talking to her,” Maisie said. “The problem is her talking back.”

“No right,” Tara nodded. “We can do that! Get passed the block. It’s used for djinn’s because it’s all about wavering realities. I’ve got the supplies in that bag Ramona gave me-”

“Ramona the witch?” Jody asked.

“-it’ll take an hour but-”

“Are you a witch now?” Jody asked. “I thought it was just a job?”

“-still our best shot. Maybe she can tell us what’s-”

“Stop!” Jody shouted. “Let me just…get my head around this. Tara, explain exactly what you want to do.”

“Well,” Tara responded slowly. “One of us can enter Lola’s mind and try to drag her out of it…or at least get a better handle of what’s going on.”

“And it’ll take a while?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“It has to brew,” Tina added.

“Get started,” Jody said and Tara recruited Maisie to help her in the kitchen.

Miriam glanced around the room, she opened up her mouth to speak a few times before deciding to follow the others to the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Jody asked, running the wet cloth over Lola’s forehead.

“She’s up to one-fifteen. If we don’t figure out something soon…there’s not going to be a mind to save.”

“I can’t lose another kid,” Jody sighed. “I won’t. Get Alex here. I gotta make a phone call.”

“Who ya gonna call?” Claire asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jody smirked. “You think the Winchesters left me high and dry?”

+++

“Well, how-ya-do, Sheriff Jody!” came the goofy voice from the speaker phone.

They were all gathered now, Alex having driven hell for leather at the call from Claire. Lola was still not responding, the twitching of her hands and her reaction at her feet being tickled had dwindled until she didn’t react at all.

It was not a good sign.

“Garth-”

“I just saw the Winchesters, oh what, a week ago? No. Longer than that. There was a kitsune up in Virginia _two_ weeks ago and it was after that. Well now, maybe not. Isn’t it funny how your mind does that? Just forgets-”

“Yes, but-”

“I am continually walking into rooms and forgetting what I went in there for, just the dickens.”

“Garth!” Jody shouted. “I need your help.”

“Sure thing, sure thing. What can I do you for?”

“I’ve got a sick girl here,” she said carefully. “She’s, uh, like you.”

“Sick?” Garth asked, alert. “What do you mean?”

“She has a fever and the chills…the sweating has stopped and she won’t drink anything…”

“How long’s this been goin’ on for?”

“A few hours.”

Miriam stood up abruptly. “We don’t have time for this,” she said, disappearing.

“You gotta get some water in her at least. But Jody…we don’t get sick but hey— _hey! What in the good gosh darn are you-_ ”

“Doing?” Garth finished, appearing in the room with Miriam at his elbow. “I was in…New Mexico.”

“We’re going to talk about this,” Jody said to Miriam.

“Oh,” Garth sighed, checking on Lola. His voice had gone surprisingly rigid. “She’s one of the halfsies.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Claire asked.

He nodded shortly.

“And-” she prompted.

He shook his head.

A clogged silence filled the room and Claire buried her face in Lola’s damp hair. Alex came to stand behind Jody, wrapping her arms around the sheriff.

“See, uh,” Garth cleared his throat a few times. Then he pressed shaking fingers to the bite on Lola’s neck. “See how shallow it is?” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a deep red bite mark scarred into his bicep.

“Why?” Claire asked.

“When they bite, it’s instinct. Like a rage-virus in their heads and they just want to spread it, they snap and slobber. Animals. But this,” he traced the mark again. “This was done on purpose and it was done by someone who loved her. Someone who didn’t want to cause her pain. When we looked into it, see, we took some pups ourselves but they didn’t…anyway. They thought bloodlines were the strongest. Fact is, her mother or father did this…was forced to do it.”

“It’s causing her pain now,” Alex said.

“The virus isn’t taking hold like it should. Whatever changes she’s already gone through were more akin to allergic reactions than anything. It was just a matter of time…”

“What if you bit her?” Claire asked. “For real?”

“I wouldn’t do that to her,” Garth said levelly.

“You wouldn’t save her life?” Claire snapped.

“There’s no guarantee-”

“The guarantee,” Claire argued. “Is that she is going to die if we don’t do something. If _you_ don’t do something.”

“I wish a lot that this hadn’t happened to me, kid,” Garth said. “You’re askin’ me to do it to someone else. On purpose.”

“Hey,” Tara spoke up.

“She deserves a chance-”

“A curse-”

“It’s ready!” Tara yelled, holding up a cup. “Who’s gonna-”

Claire didn’t give them time to decide. She threw the potion down the hatch like a shot.

+++

The kitchen door opened easily under her fingers.

Lola sat in her usual spot at the kitchen table, blinking placidly at an empty glass. There was a jug of milk on the placemat in front of her, along with a bottle of orange juice. She rolled the glass between her fingers.

“Lola,” Claire sidled up next to her, raising her hand to stroke the girl’s hair. It ghosted through.

“This was my first morning here,” said Lola from beside the stove, an older one, Claire realized. The scars on young Lola were still red not yet faded into thin pink lines. And her wrists were still raw from the shackles.

“I couldn’t decide between them. I couldn’t decide anything. The fact that I had choices was…crushing. Too much,” Lola sighed. “Jody laid out the jeans and sweater for me. Where I was…before,” she tried not to look at her wrists. “Choice wasn’t a thing. They took us away and kept us scared so we’d hate.”

It didn’t take a large stretch of imagination. Claire could fill in the blanks. The way Lola had to steel herself before walking into the safe room, repeatedly telling herself she would be allowed out. Or that she ate everything on her plate, sometimes multiple helpings, as if there might not be another meal. The night terrors.

The wind howled outside the window and Claire looked out, expecting the familiar shed and tree line.

There were trees, stripped of bark and leaves. The whole world outside was void of color, a riot of black and gray except where, occasionally, red eyes would flash in the darkness. “What is that?” Claire asked.

“Where I’m going,” Lola said distantly. “Where the monsters go.”

“You’re not a monster,” Claire defended instantly.

“Milk is smooth, soothing. Warmed up it can put you right to sleep. Good for your bones. Did you know Alex puts it on her face to keep her skin pretty?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Orange juice…it’s kind of sharp. You can taste it long after it’s gone. It zaps you, wakes you up and it can burn, if you’ve got a cut on your lip, it can burn,” Lola continued. “I picked tap water that day. Tasteless. I knew where it came from, that there was nothing in it. It was the first choice I’d made in my life.”

“The metaphor isn’t lost on me, Lo. You can choose smooth or…pulpy.”

“Life is pretty pulpy, huh?” Lola smirked. “I’m glad you came, there’s some stuff you need to know.”

“You can tell me when we get back.”

Lola fixed her with a look far older than her years. “I’m telling you now,” she put her hands on her hips like Jody did right before a lecture. “The Winslows smell like death. Not the…not the guy Death, like dead things.”

“The…guy…Death?” Claire repeated slowly.

“I’d see him a lot, where I was,” Lola said like she wasn’t recalling a nightmare. “He smelled like hamburgers and that fancy cologne that Red puts on when he knows Jody is coming to see Maisie.”

_It’s amazing,_ Claire thought, _the kind of things a quiet, watchful child can see._

“Miriam is okay,” Lola went on. “I know she’s weird but she wants to help. And I had a lot of fun being your sister. All of you. It was…it was good. I don’t want to be a monster but I don’t think I can be exactly good either. There’s still hate inside me. I can feel it sometimes when I get angry. When Alex won’t let me stay up, or when Jody makes me do my homework.”

“That’s part of being a kid,” Claire said.

“That’s how it starts but what about when I’m older? What if someone is mean to me and I can’t take it? What if I get out of the panic room and hurt someone? That would make me a thing we hunt. A thing you hunt. I couldn’t do that to you. This is better.”

She reached for the milk.

“Lola, please,” Claire begged. “Just wait. I know it sucks and I know you want to avoid the pain and…and being a monster. B-but you’re not, not really. Did you know…after what happened to Tara, did you know she can do magic now? That’s why I’m here, Tara got me here. Sometimes witches are bad and sometimes they’re not. You’re just like that. Something bad happened to her and now she wants to help people.”

“I want to eat people,” Lola snapped back. “That won’t help anybody.”

“You’re still learning, Lo. We all are. The world is so gray, Lola, we’re all just doing the best we can. Some days are gonna suck, they just are. But some days…I mean, Halloween was good, right? You got sick on candy and went to a high school party. Or when we made brownies for breakfast. Or when the storm hit last winter and knocked out the power.”

A smile crawled across Lola’s face, scars stretching. “We put all the blankets in the living room and slept in a big pile for four days. We made s’mores.”

She put the milk down.

“That doesn’t have to be over. Ten years isn’t long enough, not at all. There’s a guy here who can help but he has to know you want it. That you’re willing to make this choice. I know I’m being pushy, but come on, bug, I don’t want to lose you. None of us do.”

_“Claire.”_ She could feel Tara’s lips against her ear. _“It’s time to come back.”_

“What if I hurt someone?” she asked.

“What if you save someone?” Claire retorted. “I’ve seen monsters, Lola. You’re not one. You’re a very special girl with a very special gift and I want to see what you can do with it. But it’s up to you, your choice. You’ll always have choices with us, for better or worse. Just don’t discount how many people here are willing to help you. You survived a nightmare, it doesn’t get much more pulpy than that.”

She grit her teeth, pulling Lola into a quick hug. Resolutely not looking out the window. “I love you, Lo.”

Claire pressed a kiss to the little girl’s forehead before turning around and walking out the door.

+++

Claire slammed back into her body so hard she was sure her lungs were in her knees. She gave herself a few moments to get oriented before opening her eyes. The room was dark. She’d been out a while.

“Well?” Jody asked.

Claire shrugged, honestly not sure if she’d gotten through to Lola. “Now, we wait.”

Alex groaned into her hands, curled up at Lola’s feet.

“Hey,” Claire leaned close, brushing Lola’s hair back, tracing the scar on her throat. “Hey, Lo. I left the door open for you. So if you’d like to come back…we’d all be glad to see you.”

No one spoke. Jody carded her fingers through Lola’s now-dry hair. Alex kept running her fingernails up and down the soles of Lola’s feet, hoping for a reaction. Maisie and Tara were still rooting through books, hoping for a last minute solution. Tina was diligently taking notes. Miriam was watching Garth watching her, sizing each other up.

Claire knew it was probably only a few minutes later but time had dragged on so when Lola suddenly cranked down on her hand, she let out a gasp.

“Mrr,” Lola said, grumpily fighting to open her eyes.

“Lola?” Jody said, brushing her cheek.

Lola blinked slowly, scouting the room with yellow eyes before her gaze landed on Garth. “Save me. Please.”

Garth nodded once. “Everyone out.”

“We don’t mind a bit of blood,” Alex pointed out.

“No, it’s-” Garth hesitated. “I’d rather ya’ll not see me like this, if you understand.”

They trekked out slowly, telling Lola how happy they were to see her, that she’d feel better soon, they’d have brownies for dinner. Garth shut the door and Claire pressed her face against it.

+++

Claire had an early shift the next morning but couldn’t sleep the night before. The relief of Lola being alright, being alive, had them all wired. Miriam had disappeared with Garth and not returned. They camped out in Lola’s room, gathering all the blankets and pillows in the house to cover the floor, and had brownies and orange juice for dinner.

It was unanimously decided that the combination was disgusting. Even Lola regretted the decision immediately but choked down half a pan of brownies and a jug of orange juice by herself. They watched bad movies and when Lola finally drifted off into an easy, fever-free sleep, they hugged each other and tried to shake off how close it had been.

Claire zombied through most of the morning, making lists in her head to ignore the image of Lola reaching for the milk that was playing on a loop in her mind. She bagged last week’s comics to put in the bins, the sharp colors in contrast to the stark landscape of Purgatory waiting outside that window.

There was no one in the shop, the baristas were quiet and the music was loud and Claire was zoned out so she didn’t notice Amos speaking up until he was right in front of her.

“He-hey, Claire.”

There was no logical reason for what she did next. It was a bad idea, a poor call. She should be distant with him, or maybe even mean. Anything to get him to go away because even Lola knew the Winslows were bad news. But she doesn’t because she held the stress about Lola in her chest like a little ball of fire and Amos’s shy smile made it go out.

She rounded the desk and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight against her. His coat smelled like salt and winter and wood smoke. He doesn’t smell like death. She noticed, when she pulled back that his nose was slightly swollen and his glasses are held together with tape. She recognized a bruise covered with make up when she saw it.

She decided it didn’t matter, not right here and not right now. Right now, she just wanted to hug him and let last night run off her shoulders like water.

Then she made it worse and kissed him.

+++

End of Episode 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crosses fingers that next week's episode doesn't destroy this fic*


End file.
